“A bunch of folks came in for early supper, and Alex asked stay me to stay,” Ellen says.
“We’ll be on time,” I say.
“I did make an extra $9 just on the tips.”
“That’s good,” I say and smile. “You must have given them better service than I saw some folks get at lunch.”
I stop at a crosswalk and a group of college students passes in front of us.
“Alex said something to me about that,” Ellen says.
“They complain?”
“No, but Alex don’t miss much.”
Ellen nods at the books between us.
“Professor Korovich gave us some more?”
“Yes,” I say. “Remind me to tell Kerrie.”
We get lucky on the lights, three greens and one red, but once we pass the city limits sign, a car is piddling along and I’m stuck behind it. The road’s curvy, and the driver’s going 30 in a 55 zone. It’s two miles before the road straightens and I can pass. By the time we pull into the lot that says Patient Parking, we’re running late, but Dr. Blanton’s car is still outside. We hurry in, and I tell him we’re sorry to hold him up.
“Don’t worry about that,” he says. “I’m just glad you won’t miss your call.”
He nods at the waiting room floor. There’s a red stain wide as a tractor tire.
“A logger nearly cut his arm off this morning. Tania and I got a lot of it up, but the floor needs a good scouring.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, and check the clock.
“I left five more dollars, for the extra work on the floor,” Dr. Blanton says, and takes out his keys. “Tell Kerrie the man that brought her into this world says to be careful, doctor’s orders.”
“We’ll tell her,” Ellen says.
Dr. Blanton leaves, and Ellen goes in to make sure the Skype camera works and that the chat is set up. I go to the storeroom and fill up the mop bucket, then add the bleach and set it in the lobby. It’s time for Kerrie to call, so I go into Dr. Blanton’s office. Ellen’s in the chair, and I’m standing behind her when the box comes up and Ellen clicks “answer.” Kerrie appears on the screen, and it’s like every other time, because a part of Ellen and me that’s been knotted up inside all day can finally let go.
Since it’s already Thanksgiving over there, Ellen asks if they’ll have turkey and dressing for lunch, and Kerrie says yes but it won’t taste nearly as good as what Ellen makes. I lean over Ellen’s shoulder and ask how things are going, and Kerrie says fine, like she always does, and tells us she has two more days before she has to go back out. Ellen asks about a boy in her unit who got hurt by an IED, and Kerrie says he lost his leg but the doctors saved the sight in one eye. I tell her Professor Korovich gave me more books, and Ellen asks about school. Kerrie says the head of the education department at N.C. State is matching up the tuition costs with the Army’s college fund. They’ve been really helpful, Kerrie says, and tells us again how excited she is about college.
Maybe it’s because the picture’s a little blurry, but one second I see something in Kerrie’s face that reminds me of when she was a baby, then something else reminds me of her in first grade and after that high school. It’s like the slightest flicker or shift makes one show out more than the others. But that’s not it, I suddenly realize. All those different faces are inside me, not on the screen, and I can’t help thinking that if I remember every one, enough of Kerrie’s alive inside me to keep safe the part that isn’t.
We stay on a while longer, not saying anything important, but what we talk about doesn’t matter as much as seeing Kerrie and hearing her voice, knowing that she’s made it safe through one more day and night. Only 26 more and she’ll be home. Like Professor Korovich said, not so long. Afterward, we clean up the office, mopping the waiting room last. The blood stain’s a chore. We get on our hands and knees, rubbing the linoleum so hard it’s like we’re trying to take it off, too.
We finally get done, and Ellen picks up the two 20s and the 5 on the receptionist’s desk. The money we get from Dr. Blanton goes into an envelope we’re giving Kerrie the day she gets home. It’ll be nearly $2,000, enough to help get a car or pay the rent. On the way home I turn on the radio. It’s a station Ellen and me like because it plays lots of songs we heard while dating, songs we listened to when we were no older than Kerrie.
Several stores already have their Christmas decorations up, and they brighten up the town as we drive through. As I wait for a light to turn, I think about Ellen being more scared the closer we get to Kerrie coming home. It’s like Kerrie’s been lucky so long that the luck’s due to run out. I can’t help thinking that we can still get a phone call saying Kerrie’s been hurt. Or even worse, a soldier showing up with his cap in his hands.
The light turns green, and I pass the clock tower; behind it, Cromer Hall. The office windows are all dark, but there are lights on at the student center. Some students won’t be going home for the holidays, and because of that, someone in town has a phone close by, ready if it rings. I think about a young woman who’s hurt and scared making that call, and how someone will be there to listen.
Ron Rash, who teaches at Western Carolina University, won the 2010 Frank O’Connor International Short Story Award. He can be reached at wpmagazine@washpost.com.
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